I want nothing more than to write. I want what I write to be encouraging… but I also want it to be real. There are some days that no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to conjure up anything positive to write.
2016 was the year I finally made the decision to try medication for my mental illness. I’d been in therapy for a full year and it had helped tremendously, but I was still lacking the serotonin needed to make any real progress. I did a ton of research, asked as many professionals for their input as possible, and cried a lot.
The whole process was very overwhelming for me due to one question. What does this decision say about me?